Daddy Reflex
by mnemosyne23
Summary: Charlie's going a little overboard in his efforts to baby proof the caves. It's up to Hurley and Claire to get him to take it easy. CharlieClaire; unabashedly fluffy in bits!


**TITLE:** Daddy Reflex  
**AUTHOR:** Mnemosyne 

**Disclaimer:** Not mine! But I think we established this some time ago, yes? ;)  
**SUMMARY:** Charlie's going a little overboard in his efforts to baby proof the caves. It's up to Hurley and Claire to get him to take it easy.  
**RATING:** PG  
**CHARACTERS:** Charlie, Claire, Hurley, Baby!C  
**SPOILERS:** Up through "Do No Harm."  
**NOTES:**  
Man, it has been SO long since I've written C&C fic! I feel absolutely bereft; I've missed it so much! (hugging C&C) This is my first step in trying to reassimilate myself back into the PB&J Fic Universe -- I hope it's a good one! It starts off with some silly Charlie/Hurley interaction, and ends with some deliriously fluffy Charlie/Claire goodness; it's been too long since I've written either of those and I dearly wanted to do it. (giggle!) I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Charlie had forgotten how difficult it was being responsible. Once upon a time he'd been Mr. Reliable, but that seemed like a whole other lifetime now. Ever since Liam had introduced him to the world of high quality heroin, he'd gone from being dependable to dispensable.

Until the crash; until this island; until he'd suddenly found himself one survivor among a mere forty-eight (forty-seven… forty-six…). There were things he had to do now; people he had to support. Food needed to be gathered, firewood collected, shelters built and maintained; it was as if God had tapped him on the shoulder and said _You Thought I'd Let You Go That Easy?_ Sometimes Charlie wished the Almighty hadn't chosen such a crummy place to teach him a lesson about responsibility.

Still, he could have done it -- could have made the transition from wasted to worthy -- if he'd been given enough time. He had no doubt that with proper preparation he could become an integral part of the island community; but he needed TIME. He had an obsessive personality, and if he was thrown into a situation of authority too quickly, he was bound to go overboard. He had to ease into situations slowly. He knew this about himself. He understood it.

And when Claire's little boy was born, he ignored it completely.

It was as if a wellspring had suddenly opened in his belly, flooding his veins with the kind of earnest protectiveness he'd always thought only applied to knights on horseback and those rogue cops in American comic book films who sought to avenge their dead families; deep, throbbing, purposeful protectiveness. Sometimes he found his fingers twitching whenever somebody got too close to Claire and the baby; itching to pick up a rock and growl threateningly in the intruder's direction: _Me Charlie-Man; you go away. Leave Claire-Woman and Baby-Claire alone._

Oh yes. Thinking like a caveman. Very suave.

To keep himself from actually braining someone with a sharp stick, he found other ways to divert this newfound Daddy Reflex, as he'd coined the term. Some days he'd scour the jungle looking for just the best fruits for Claire; others he'd search out the softest, greenest palm fronds to line her sleeping nook. He'd spent one day fashioning a makeshift marionette out of bamboo and some kind of fibrous plant Sun had pointed out to him, and the end result came out quite well, considering he didn't know the first thing about puppetry. He could make it walk and do a little dance, and was in the process of trying to teach it to do handstands; by the time the baby was old enough to understand what he was seeing, Charlie'd have "Mr Moony" reciting _The Illiad_ and pirouetting like Barishnakov.

Today, however, Charlie had taken a break from teaching the puppet to do tricks so he could devote his time to a very serious problem he'd only just become aware of: safety. He'd never realized how incredibly dangerous the caves were for a small child. Low growing plant life that may or may not be poisonous to young-baby-munching; open campfires that were just _begging_ to be crawled into; a bubbling spring that screamed _You can drown in less than an inch of water!_ at him. Everywhere he looked, he saw new dangers. How was it no one had seen them before! He'd risen with the sun that morning so he could get an early start, and hadn't stopped working since breakfast.

That was how Hurley found him at midday, buried up to his elbows in mossy soil. "Dude," the larger man said, coming to a standstill beside him and surveying his progress.

Charlie grunted in response, too busy ripping plants out of the ground to answer.

An amiable silence followed, as Hurley watched him toil away. As he removed each new leafy interloper, Charlie would drop it on a tarp that was spread out on the ground beside him; he had quite a pile now.

"Dude?" he heard Hurley repeat, only this time with the upward inflection that indicated he was going to ask a question. Knowing Hurley, it'd probably be something like _The hell are you doing?_

"Hurley?"

"The hell are you doing?"

Charlie sighed and looked up at him through the sweaty fringe of his bangs. "Honestly, Hurley, what's it look like I'm doing?" he asked testily. He didn't mean to sound so waspish, but the day was hot and muggy and his clothes were itchy where bits of grass had gotten lodged in the fibers.

"It kinda looks like you're trying to dig a hole to China or something," Hurley observed in his usual bemused, nonjudgmentally judgmental way.

"I'm not digging a hole to bloody China."

"New York?"

"No!"

"Then dude, I feel the need to reiterate -- the hell are you doing?"

Charlie sighed again and went back to yanking at a stubborn patch of shrubbery. "I'm weeding," he said through gritted teeth as he heaved on a particularly deep-rooted shoot.

"Weeding?"

"That's ri- AH!" He cried out as the plant came free and he tumbled backwards onto his tailbone. "OW! Bugger!" he exclaimed, rubbing his lower back and wincing with pain. "Bugger bugger BUGGER!"

"Dude, I don't speak British or anything, but I think that's bad, right?"

"YES it's bloody bad! This whole THING is bloody bad! Sodding… Help me up!" Charlie stuck a hand petulantly in the air and Hurley obligingly yanked him to his feet, where the rocker proceeded to vigorously rub his own tailbone in an effort to disperse the pain.

"I think watching you do this is considered pornography in certain countries."

"Shut up, Hurl, I'm not in the mood."

"Dude, what's up your snout? You've been acting like a rat with a knot in its tail all day. Did Mr. Moony refuse to do a cartwheel or something?"

"Leave the puppet out of this. He's an innocent party."

"Then answer the question."

Charlie sighed, straightening up and rubbing a hand over his eyes while the other continued to massage his tailbone. "I'm baby proofing," he explained wearily.

"Baby whatnow?"

"Baby proofing. Making it safe for Claire's baby."

"Um… you mean the one she carries everywhere?"

Charlie gave him a withering look. "No, the one she's got tucked up her pant leg," he said irritably.

Hurley shrugged at him. "Dude, the kid can't even crawl yet. And even when he can, there's no way Claire's letting that baby out of her sight; I think he's pretty darn safe myself."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Charlie agreed. "But you'd be wrong."

Hurley raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How?"

"Well, just look around you, Hurl!" Charlie exclaimed, spreading his arms wide to encompass the caves at large. "Danger lurks around every corner! You see water -- I see a boiling cauldron of death. You see a simple campfire -- I see a raging inferno of death. You see pretty plant life -- I see green leafy fronds-"

"Of death?"

"You're catching on."

Hurley sighed. "Charlie, dude, you're going all intense again," he said. "You know that thing you get when you're being intense? That nervous twitchy thing you do, where you look like you've got ants in your pants? Yeah, THAT. You've gotta cool down a bit or your head's gonna fly off like a broken Pez dispenser."

"Cool down? _Cool down?_ Hurley, we are talking about the life of a helpless infant! This is not something to be taken ligh- HEY!" He pointed accusingly at another castaway walking nearby. "You! What's that you've got in your hand?"

The man stopped midstride and turned perplexed eyes in his direction. "Uhhh… a torch? To light my campfire?"

"Oh, is that what you call that?" Charlie said snippily.

"Um… yeah?"

"Yeah? Yeah it is, huh? Well that's not what _I_ call it. You want to know what _I_ call it?"

"Sure…?"

"Yeah? Yeah? FIRE HAZARD. That's what I call it. Big bloody fire hazard, and you're just walking around with it like _la di da, whoops! Trod on a slippery twig!_ Put it out!"

The man blinked at him, then looked at Hurley for some kind of translation.

"Just keep walking, dude," Hurley said sympathetically, patting Charlie on the back. "He's tweaking."

The man nodded with a mild expression of understanding, then hurried off again.

"Hey!" Charlie shouted after him. "Walk, don't run! Stupid blighter, you're going to put somebody's eye out!"

He made as if to follow the other man, but Hurley grabbed his arm and held tight. "Charlie, dude, are you listening to yourself?"

"Yes! Course I am! Why, what am I saying?"

"You just said he's going to put somebody's eye out."

"I did?"

"Yep."

Charlie blinked as this new information processed through his heat-muddled brain. After a few seconds, the realization hit him like a pile of bricks to the back of the skull. "Oh bloody hell," he said in distress, eyes going wide as saucers. "I'm turning into my father!"

Hurley patted him on the back. "It'll be all right, dude," he reassured the other man. "We'll get you through this."

"No! No, you don't understand!" Charlie babbled, feeling his heart start to race anxiously. "It'll just get worse from here! I'll start building fences next, and unnecessary patios! And a barbecue pit -- I'll _insist_ on building a ridiculously large barbecue pit."

"We already have one."

"I'll make it bigger!"

"I think you're overreacting, Charlie man."

"No! No, listen to me! Then the screws'll come next."

"Screws?"

"I'll start collecting old, rusty screws in glass jars _in case I need them later_. And I'll say things like _When I was a kid, we used to walk to school_ and _Shut the door, do you think I want to heat the whole neighborhood?_"

"We're on a tropical island, dude, and we don't have doors; I think that's a moot point."

"You're not _listening_, Hurley!"

"Charlie?" Hurley put a gentle arm around his friend's tense shoulders, turning him around and leading him back towards the sleeping area. "I think you've spent a little too much time in the heat without food and water, and you've become good friends with Mr. Dehydration and his wife Mrs. Paranoid Anxiety. Okay?"

"Help me?" Charlie whimpered. "I don't want to wear socks with my sandals and go on holiday in Torremolinos…"

"It's okay," Hurley soothed, helping him sit down. The padding of his makeshift mattress felt good to Charlie's weary bones. Hurley pressed a water bottle into his hand and he looked up with bleary eyes to see the other man smiling at him. "You just sit here and have something to drink, all right?"

"Where're you going?" Charlie asked as the other man straightened up and started to lumber off.

Hurley stopped long enough to turn around and chuckle at him. "To get help," he answered.

------------------------------

When Claire re-entered the caves a little over an hour later, she found Charlie huddled on his sleeping mat, busily fiddling with something in his lap; she couldn't see precisely what, as he was hunched forward. "I think watching you do that is considered pornography in some countries," she said with a wry smile as she approached him, cradling her sleeping son against her chest. She hadn't named the little boy yet, and it was getting a bit embarrassing.

Charlie looked up quickly as her voice reverberated in the silent caves; everyone else was out and about, and wouldn't return until closer to dusk. "You been talking to Hurley?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye as she came to a stop in front of him.

"A bit," she answered with a grin. Nodding to his lap, she asked, "What are you working on?"

Charlie looked down bashfully. "Oh… nothing…" He moved to hide his project surreptitiously under his blanket, but Claire beat him to it.

"Uh-uh," she said, sitting carefully beside him. "Let me see. Please?"

When Charlie was embarrassed, his ears turned red. They were the color of fire coral at the moment. "Just… Nothing special, just a silly little thing." Blushing to beat the band, he held up what he'd been working on.

It was the marionette he'd been playing around with for the past week. Claire found it endearing to watch him fuss around with the strings and bits of loosely jointed bamboo in an effort to get it to walk like it didn't have Rickets. Normally it looked like a vaguely humanoid mish-mash of bamboo, but now-

"He's got clothes!" she exclaimed in delight, beaming at the puppet before turning her smile on him full force. The wooden doll was in fact wearing clothes: a pair of "pants" made from blue plastic sheeting, a shirt made from a sleeve off one of his t-shirts, and even a little sweater vest crafted out of a holey sweat sock.

"'Sright," he said, and she saw a pleased smile light up his face; and there was the familiar tip of his tongue, which always appeared when he was feeling proud. "Figured it wasn't seemly, having him prance about naked and the like; not with small children about."

Claire smiled warmly at him. "You're too thoughtful, Charlie," she murmured.

He shrugged, embarrassed, and tucked the puppet away again. "I told you, it's nothing."

"No, it's something, Charlie," she pressed gently. Cradling her son close with one arm, she reached out with her free hand to rub Charlie's knee. He tensed a little at the unexpected touch, but she didn't move her hand away. "Hurley told me what you were doing earlier," she explained.

Charlie looked pained. "What did he say?" he asked nervously.

"That you were baby proofing the caves."

"Was that all?"

Claire paused. "More or less," she responded after a moment.

Charlie winced. "You can tell me, Claire," he said with a sigh. "What did the blighter say about me?"

"Well… he might have said something to effect that you were acting like Martha Stewart if she'd been born British, male, and worked for Brinks Home Security."

"Wonderful. I'll kill him."

"It's not such a bad thing, Charlie. It's very sweet of you to be so concerned with keeping him safe." She couldn't resist a foolish grin then, turning her attention back to the sleeping boy in her arms. He had one hand fisted up and pressed against his pudgy cheeks, pink lips puckered in sleep.

"Yeah, but it wasn't working, was it?" Charlie muttered glumly. "You know I threatened a man who was trying to light his campfire? Threatened him! Now admittedly, he wasn't being particularly careful with that torch he was carrying, waving it about like a bloody Olympian; and I didn't care too much for the way he was walking -- much too fast, could do himself a mischief, let alone someone el-"

"Charlie?"

"Hmm?"

"Take a breath."

"Right." He gave her a guilty smile, and obligingly took a breath, letting it out slowly.

"Better?" she asked as he finished.

"Much."

"Good." She smiled again, hoping it was serene. "Charlie, I appreciate everything you've done for me and the baby. Honestly, I don't know what I'd have done these past few weeks without you. But you have to look after yourself, too. Hurley told me you let yourself get so dehydrated you were hallucinating."

Charlie blushed at this. "Well… not hallucinating," he corrected her. "More like projecting." He furrowed a worried brow. "And I'm not entirely sure it was all dehydration."

Claire laughed softly and reached out again, this time to take his hand and squeeze. "You're sweet," she said, and meant it. "But I don't want you overdoing it like that again, okay? I've already got one fellow to take care of."

Charlie chuckled. "Not to worry, Claire," he assured her. "I won't burden you. Scout's honor."

Claire felt her face soften. Charlie was such a mystery to her, even after weeks with him, relearning him through interaction and the pages of her journal. He was so giving of himself, yet he always seemed ready to get a kick to the ribs, as if the slightest misstep would make him utterly worthless. "You wouldn't be a burden, Charlie," she murmured, loosing his hand to reach up and stroke some flyaway tufts of hair back behind his ear. "But you deserve nothing less than absolute attention."

He looked at her then, and not for the first time she found herself getting lost in those blue-gray eyes of his. They changed color with his mood; right now they were the color of pre-dawn skies. "Thank you," he murmured with a smile, and it made her heart flutter when she heard the faintest crack in his voice.

"You're welcome," she replied, running her thumb over his temple.

They stayed that way for a minute, sitting in companionable silence. Claire could tell Charlie was exhausted; judging by the pile of uprooted brush she'd passed on her way here, he'd been working all day in the heat and humidity, probably without taking a substantial break. His eyes were drooping as her fingers combed idly through his hair. "Why don't you lie down," she said softly, running her knuckles over his cheek. This was something she found herself doing now: soft, motherly touches to accentuate her words. She did it with Charlie more than the others; he brought out her protective streak. "You look beat to a frazzle."

"I'm fine," he mumbled drowsily.

"Sure you are," she teased gently. "That's why your eyes are lidded like saucepans. Come here." She sat back, propping her back against the cave wall, and patted her lap.

Charlie's eyes widened, and he suddenly looked _very_ awake. "Claire…" he stammered nervously.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly," she said with an exasperated smile. "You'd think you'd never seen a woman's lap before."

"Well… no. I mean, I have. Seen a woman's lap before. I just… haven't slept in one for a while. And that was… very different."

"Yeah? How."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. "Um… rather not tell you, luv, if you don't mind." He scratched the back of his head nervously. "Let's just say I was _very_ drunk, and she said she was Michelle Pfeiffer."

Claire arched an intrigued eyebrow. "I take it she wasn't?"

Charlie cleared his throat nervously. "She wasn't actually a she." Claire stifled a guffaw. "What?" he demanded, affronted. "I'll have you know _Miguel Piper_ and _Michelle Pfeiffer_ are easily muddled, even by people who are entirely sober!"

Claire laughed outright this time. "Charlie, lie down," she prompted, patting her lap again. "I assure you, I _am_ a woman, my name is Claire Littleton, not Larry Middleton, and you're making _me_ sleepy just looking at you. So come on -- consider it letting me practice for when this little guy is too big for me to cuddle anymore." She snuggled her son closer to her face so she could drop a kiss on his pink forehead, giggling when he wiggled in his sleep.

Charlie looked unsure for a few more seconds, but then exhaustion got the better of him and she saw his shoulders slump. Moving wearily, he maneuvered himself down onto his side, resting his head in her lap. For a second he seemed to be trying to keep his head a few millimeters above her thighs, but then he gave up completely and sank down. Claire brought her hand down to stroke his hair back from his face before moving it to the side to rub his arm. "Comfortable?" she asked quietly.

"Mm…"

"Do you think you can sleep?"

"Mebbe…"

"You want to talk to me? Maybe that'll help you drift off. I know it helps me sometimes; reminds my body how tired I am."

"Whatcha wanna talk about?"

She giggled; he sounded so sleepy. "What did you get done today?" she asked. "I saw the plants."

"Mm-hmm… Weeding."

"That must have been quite a job, it being a tropical island and all."

"Mm-hmm…"

"Anything else?"

"Gonna make a li'l fence tomorrow."

"For what?"

"Fence off the watering hole. Dun want the little bit crawlin' in. Gonna make it outta bamboo and coconut shells. The shells dun do much 'cept add ass-- as-- aesth- anesthetic… Visual appeal. Yep, 'sgonna be really pret-"

"Charlie?"

"Hmm?"

"Sleep."

He yawned widely. "Roger."

Claire smiled, feeling him snuggle down into her lap, his nose pressed against her knee. It didn't take long before his breathing evened out and she felt his muscles steadily loosen in sleep. She continued gently stroking his arm, remembering how much she'd enjoyed it when her mother had done that for her when she was a child, and how she'd hated it when she'd be half asleep and her mother, thinking she was out completely, would leave off and move away; it would leave her feeling incomplete and half awake.

In the crook of her arm, she felt her son stir and looked down into the blue slits of his waking eyes. "Shhhh," she soothed softly. "Don't wake Charlie, my baby. He's been busy all day, looking after you." Nuzzling her son's cheek, she kissed him gently. "Now we're looking after him. If we're nice, maybe he'll give us a puppet show later. Remember last time? Remember the funny little doll who did the little jig for us? Wasn't that fun? He's all dressed up now -- quite the little fashion plate. I'm jealous."

She watched as the little boy's eyes drooped shut again, lulled by the quiet meter of her voice. Letting her words trail off, she allowed herself to think on the position she was currently in: newborn son cradled in one arm while Charlie slept soundly in her lap. Three weeks ago she would never have foreseen this happening; she would still have been terrified of the new life growing in her belly, and Charlie was just a friendly face amidst a group of smiling strangers. But now… Now she _felt_ like a mother. She supposed it was instinctual, this urge to protect the welfare of those she cared about. It filled her up and gave her fresh purpose.

Hurley had teased Charlie when he told her about what the former rock star was doing back at the caves, and Claire had joked along with him, because it _was_ funny when she let herself think about it. But she empathized with the man in her lap; she understood the need to nurture and guard. It was what mothers did.

It was what parents did.

"And baby makes three," she murmured dreamily, not really knowing where the thought came from and not caring either. Charlie's hair was soft under her fingers, his whiskers scratchy against her leg, and she'd never felt so comfortable in her life. Trapped on a lonely island in the middle of an unforgiving ocean, and she felt utterly at peace.

Charlie liked to imagine they were different somehow; that she was better than him. He didn't try to hide it; he shared it with her every time they shared a glance. She didn't think he understood that they were really more alike than different. They'd both been tossed aside by life, and desperately needed someone to care about them. Not _for_ them; _about_ them. Claire wasn't afraid to say she wanted someone to hold her again; judging by the way Charlie's hand was idly rubbing her knee, she felt certain he wanted the same thing.

She smiled, combing her fingers through his hair. "I'm still here, Charlie," she murmured as he mumbled something and stirred faintly in his sleep. "I'm not going anywhere. Shh…"

He settled down at the sound of her voice and she let herself relax back against the wall again.

Her eyes fell on Mr. Moony the puppet, who was lying in a haphazard heap near Charlie's hip. Smiling, Claire reached out and straightened his bamboo limbs until he looked more comfortable. Amazing -- it was an obvious toy, and very roughly made, yet it still seemed to have a personality. Charlie had done that; Charlie, she was beginning to suspect, could do anything; including making her fall head over heels all over again, when she'd sworn she never would.

She felt a slow grin begin to spread across her face as she fingered Mr. Moony's sweater vest. "I can't believe he made you clothes," she said, laughing softly. "Oh, Charlie. I love you."

It didn't even come as a surprise when she realized she meant it.

**THE END**


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